First Prime
by Sobekcroc
Summary: A lesser-known System Lord initiates her next First Prime. Please review.


First Prime

Spoilers: None.

Season: Any, doesn't really involve SG-1.

Summary: A lesser-known System Lord initiates her next First Prime.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.  The dudes at MGM own half of the nouns in it, the ancient Egyptians own the other half.  Wouldn't it be awesome to be either one?  Or both!

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I come alone before my goddess.  She is radiant in her superlativity, with a voice from the netherworld and a mind and body from heaven.  She gestures for me to rise.  She once took me in to be something new, someone I've always dreamed of being.  I rise and look up into her eyes, and wait for her to tell me why I was summoned.  But I know.  Thoses was killed two days ago in an attack on Nekhbet's forces.

She says nothing, but dismounts her cobra-armed throne and leads me through hallways shining with golden symbols.  I follow her without question.  She knows where we are going, and that is enough for me.  Her golden brown hair billows into a hood to either side of Her head.  Long hallways go past, and my curiosity grows.  I see others like me patrolling, their eyes follow us but no head turns out of the perfect lines.  The ones standing at doorways snap to attention in a salute to our goddess.  They know their places, and I take heart that we are so well trained, the best of any Jaffa any system lord ever owned.  The edges of my lips rise into the slightest smile in our glory, and my pride.

A few times I see women under my command.  They nod slightly to me, and I nod in return.  My goddess takes no notice, continuing down into a place on a mothership that I have rarely visited: the lower drive sections.  I raise an eyebrow, an action common to many Jaffa, and jog a few steps to keep up with her.  I have never seen her tire, and I admire her also for her lack of perspiration.  Her magical ships' propulsion magic has a byproduct of unchecked heat.  Other spells seem to repel it in the more elegant sections of the ships, but the drive section, which propels the ships through normal space, remain as hot as Netu whenever the ship moves.  I begin to feel sticky as the heat washes over us in successive waves, and I soon felt a drop of sweat trickle down my back.  To enhance the effect, the lights are dimmer and a red-orange color on these decks.

I began to see human slaves passing through the corridor or adjoining rooms.  They stop dead in their tracks and salute Her: eyes stare straight ahead with jawlines parallel to the floor, and arms cross above the wrists across their chests.  The gesture shows their uttermost respect for the commander of the ship while simultaneously showing that they are powerless against: the crossed arms imitate the classic pharaoh's pose with a crook and flail, yet with hands palm-down spread open on their chests, they do not pretend to carry those sacred symbols of power.

After we have passed, I hear them resume their tasks as manual laborers on the _Kree Tal_, Her flagship.  The humans are not usually as strong because they do not have symbiotes, but the gods cannot spare enough children for all to harbor one while it grows.  That is why it is an honor to be Jaffa.

She slows in her gait and stops in a dark chamber lit only with golden light from inside the walls.  A small vat is the only obvious feature of the room, churning and bubbling of its own accord.  On its lip sits a ritual knife and a tiny porcelain crucible.  The substance in the vat is metallic, and seems gold even though the light would make it so without any original color.

"Kneel," is all she says.  What she doesn't say is what I feel.  The gold is her gift to me, to carry on my forehead for the rest of my life as proof.  I am to be First Prime.  It feels as if a fountain of water in the form of pride has spouted inside my chest as I go down on one knee.  It cannot escape, and all I can do to keep it inside is smile in a tiny, restrained way.  It seems to bubble up, and I take a breath of the hot air.

Her finger tilts my chin up, and I open my eyes to see Her seal on the ceiling.  I have borne it in black tattoo for almost as long as I can remember, and in a moment I will bear it in gold ore.  I hear the knife scrape against the rim of the vat as she picks it up, see the crucible still sitting there.  The lights seem to shift against each other, like fire or candles.  Heiroglyphs on the walls glisten and shine, Her form common among the vultures and papyrus shapes.  The rising bubbles in the vat of gold appear and pop, over and over, making soft sounds and sometimes flecking the floor with gold.  The seal is more intricate here than on my tattoo, a ruby and turquoise and malachite inlaid cobra with the wings of a falcon leaning back on its own coils.  The eyes shine brown with tiger's eye, just like the goddess it stands for.  Mine has the same cobra, but pure black and sitting atop the coils.

Suddenly, I inhale sharply in pain as a mere iota of liquid gold hits the back of my left hand, which was resting on my knee.  It soon cools, but dot remains embedded into the skin there.  I clench my fist and feel the skin there pull against itself, but the wound goes deep.  It feels like fire.

"Hold very still."  The knife appears in my field of vision, and then goes above it.  Her other hand cradles the back of my head, keeping me from jerking back.  The prim'ta in my belly squirms unexpectedly, and I shiver despite the heat.  The knife enters my flesh and begins to carve.  It goes deep, symbolizing my deep commitment to Her service.  Why my blood does not gush over my eyes, I do not know, but the agony is only bearable because it is for Her.

I bite both of the inner surfaces of my cheeks, and dig all ten of my fingernails into my palms.  The cutting seems to last an eternity.  I can't even open my eyes, and my breath comes in small, shivery gasps.  Her hand pulls my hair out of its perfect braids, holds a section large enough for it not to hurt and keep my head steady.  Her face shows a determined nonexpression, her entire being concentrated into the cuts in my skin.  A single tear rolls out of the corner of my eye, but is undistinguishable from the perspiration already there.

"The first element is finished," she says theatrically.  The fire still seems to burn on my forehead.  I can't imagine what the next part will be like.  Thoses never said anything about her initiation to First Prime status.

On the other hand, the pain is beginning to subside.

She lets go of my hair and rose, turns to the black crucible, picks it up, and scoops a small amount of gold from the vat.

"Though you may receive cuts and other wounds in your service to me, I have never in all of my eternity known molten metal to be used as a form of torture.  Therefore, you will feel little pain in preparation for becoming my First Prime from the second phase.  My glory is that of happiness, safety, and comfort," she seems to growl.

With these words, she tips the crucible.

The gold trickles into the cobra shape on my forehead and flows through the channels carved into my face.  My eyes are closed, braced for the searing pain that I am sure will come, but it does not.  A strange paradox, the yellow metal douses the fire as it develops the curves of a head, hood, wings, and coils.  The soothing cold is some of Her magic, no doubt.  Perhaps the knife had something to do with it—the knife she had used looked heavy, and the blade had the same finish as a Chappa'ai.  Strange, my head seems so clear.  I bow my head, and touch the gold as She smiles, satisfied.  Every curve of the snake was smooth as a prim'ta's skin.  It remained a little warm to the touch, and I bring both hands up to touch this addition to my features.

I briefly imagine myself at Her side, in full armor and wielding a staff weapon.  A squadron of my cobra guards stand behind us in the vision, their great snake-headed helmets glinting with a silvery finish.  We all bear the seal of Udjo, supreme goddess of the delta, where waters of legend flowed so high in the rainy season that they flooded some islands, and laid black mud on the shores fertile and ready for seed.  These legends are told to toddlers, the stories of the Tauri world where the land was a wasteland and the river was the friend of all.  Udjo was there even then, and watched over my ancestors and called them her own.  They never said where Tauri was, though.  I wonder how the Gods found it again.  People like my ancestors now assault us from the Chappa'ais.  Maybe they came before we went to their world.  It is now my responsibility to keep the Tauri away from our territories.

I am First Prime of Udjo.

With this realization, the edges of my mouth curl upwards.  Already on my knees, I touch the upper edge of my forehead to the floor, arms outstretched in a position of worship.

She smiles.  "Rise."

END

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I know Jaffa aren't female, but I'm a feminist, and I'm tired of guys being in charge of everything.  Yes, I did like the episode "Birthright."  Also, this is my story, and if you can find a mention of a Goa'uld named Udjo or Nekhbet, I'll change the names.  Otherwise, deal with it.  I think they're never used in the System Lord hierarchy because they're the patron goddesses of Lower and Upper Egypt, respectively.


End file.
